god's quiet work

Last week my cactus plant, I call him Spike, flowered again.
I love it when he does that and even though he's really only done it once before, about 4 years ago, it's the rarity of the event that makes it that much more special.

The thing about these cactus flowers is, they weren't there yesterday but they're here today and they're gone tomorrow. So, if you're not paying attention, it's easy to miss them.

That I did notice it and took the time to take the picture is somehow reassuring to me.

In the face of all the noise and distraction that is the current clusterf@#k of a world we live in and even as jaded as I feel myself becoming, the larger part of myself is still paying attention to the real world around me and remaining grateful for the small things that are God's quiet work.

a work jerk update

I'm just about a month at the new art gallery gig and since I've gotten a few questions on how it's going, I thought I'd post
this update.

As I expected, it's been "interesting". . .
I learn something new every day. (like a designer/art director makes much better money than fine art salesmen)

It can be "frustrating". . .
With the help of my gallery director (a good man who could sell snow to an eskimo) I sold a $40,000.00 oil painting and started imagining how I'd squander the healthy commission on the sale but the next day the knucklehead buyer called and cheesed on the deal.
(god only knows how pissed I was)

The gallery gig can also be "exciting". . .
I'll spend some time with a potential buyer in a private showing room after I've noticed the one piece among many that has caught their eye.
I hang it in the intimate private showing room.
(now the piece is a solo act)
While I'm closing the sliding doors and bringing down the house lights, my potential buyers are sitting comfortably in the dark on a soft leather sofa, basically isolated from the rest of the world.

Then it's show time. . .

I formally introduce my captive audience to the piece. . .
It's title, the medium, the artist.
I'll help them really see the piece, directing their attention to it's "sweet-spot", the focal point where the eye finds comfort. (and subconsciously the reason they liked the piece in the first place)
Then slowly, so very slowly, I'll begin to dim the direct lighting on the piece.
The sweet-spot holds it's value as the lights grow dimmer and the background fades to black.
(now the potential buyers are sitting in a totally dark room, and usually impressed)

My intention at this point, as I so very slowly bring the direct lighting back up, is to encourage their love of the piece.
(I can't sell it if they don't love it)
The exciting part is watching their eyes widen and spark up with that, "I have to have it" look at the end of the light show.

So, while I've got their undivided attention, I start
running numbers. . .

Whole price, artist's consideration price, consultant's best price, financing price and terms.

Then the client asks for a business card, says they want to take a walk, have a beer and think about it.
They leave the gallery and head up Duval Street,
never to be seen again.

I have to admit, as an art creator, I'm one of the best.
But as an art salesman? Not so much.